Strings
by BatIsTheQueen
Summary: Modern violinists AU "he had developed the habit of closing his eyes whenever he played, so he was shocked to hear another violin join in. His eyes snapped open and the violin froze where he held it in midair. He found he was no longer alone."


**Strings**

His house was silent that day. The television was turned off for once. His precious Bach wasn't even playing. Even the birds he kept didn't sing that day.

He was sitting on his couch- antique, at least a century old- His fingers tapped the armrest of the couch silently. His legs were crossed as per usual. His tea was left untouched and was cooling as he stared at the armchair across from him.

He eyed the instrument that sat in the chair. He admired the beautiful curves made of mahogany, fine and smooth to the touch. Intricate designs wrought from steel curled around it, made and moulded by experienced hands and world weary eyes, looking so very frail and delicate.

His fingers twitched as his eyes met the strings, strung too tight. He itched to tune it to the perfect notes it once created.

He wanted so much to touch it, but it held such painful memories.

Earlier, he had decided to leave it until temptation overcame him…

Temptation came too fast.

He uncrossed his legs with his hands and scooted to the other end of his couch where his wheelchair was waiting for him. It didn't take him long to get into his wheelchair. Five years, it seems, was long enough for him to grow used to the man made contraption.

He wheeled over to the armchair, stopping by its side. He picked it up with shaky hands.

His hands ran across the beautiful instrument, brushing away the dust he hadn't already blown off when he found it in the corner of his old room. His fingers traced the metal designs; he shivered as he tasted a memory so bittersweet. But it was only on the tip of his tongue. The real memory could only be unlocked with the instrument as the key.

Before he could stop himself, he was tuning it to the chords he remembered only through a hazy memory. He propped it under his chin, picked up his bow, and started to play his old violin.

His eyes closed automatically out of habit as his hands moved as if they were possessed as he started by playing a complicated tune. He reveled in the way his violin sounded now. It sung so beautifully with every note he pulled.

Abruptly, the song changed. It changed to the first song he ever played on this violin. Back when it didn't have its metal decorations.

It was his Grandpapa's violin. He remembered the first time his Grandpapa put the violin in his hands. It was as long as his arm and he had difficulty carrying it because of its weight. The violin had screeched at him at first when he pulled the bow across the strings. He didn't want to play anymore after that, for fear of it screeching at him again.

His Grandpapa, however, was a persistent man. He wanted someone to take over his legacy and collection of violins. His Grandpapa had patiently instructed him on how to play the violin; where to put his fingers, which angle to hold the bow, and how to tune it.

After a few more less than pleasant sounds, the violin began to sing. And, oh, how beautiful it was.

It sounded like a little girl with a voice so sweet, whispering an age old melody. It was a memory he treasured most, the first time he ever played the violin. But the memory soon warped to when he was clad in black, tears streaming down his face as he stared at his Grandpapa's pale form. He had passed on not long after he had taught him violin. The violin was left to him.

He didn't remember much after that. Only returning to his Grandpapa's empty room with the violin and playing the song his Grandpapa had taught him.

The violin had sung once more, but it was the voice of a mourning child. He couldn't help but think that its voice was best when played in sorrow.

Soon, the song merged into another whose tune was near the same. It was the song he was practicing for his primary school talent show. But more importantly, it was the song he was playing when he met one of the most important people in his life that will be there with him through first loves and life lessons, through thick and thin, through everything.

It was the first time he met his best friend.

It was the first time he met Erik.

He was alone in music room number Three because the first one was occupied by a percussionist and the second one was occupied by the entire woodwind section of the school orchestra. He had remembered that the rooms were supposed to be soundproofed…

They weren't.

He listened intently as the violin sang to the tune his fingers and the bow composed.

The song he heard was a slight more grown up than the last he played, the voice too old for a little girl yet too young for a woman.

By then he had developed the habit of closing his eyes whenever he played, so he was shocked to hear another violin join in. His eyes snapped open and the violin froze where he held it in midair. He found he was no longer alone.

It was another boy, senior to him by a year. He was holding a black violin that had silver plated décor. He was still playing when one of his eyes opened, revealing a grey blue eye. Right then, at that very moment, he felt like he was drowning in that one eye.

"Well?" His senior had said, lips pulling into a smirk. "Keep playing. You needn't worry about me. I'll be playing to back you up." He stated. His bow not pausing even once as it was manipulated across the strings.

He blinked at his senior. Hesitantly, he began to play again. His playing was stiff now that he knew someone else was listening. But as the song went on, he began to grow comfortable in the other's presence.

They played in harmony.

The violins sang sweetly in an enthralling duet. He almost felt hypnotized by their voices.

"Erik."

He looked up at his senior with question in his eyes.

"That's my name." Erik said with a shark-like grin.

He nodded in understanding.

"I'm Charles." He said with a smile.

The memory warped to the two of them onstage, playing flawlessly. He remembered that they were grinning at each other when they received 'Best in Show'. And the fact that he almost choked Erik to death when he hugged him out of sheer happiness made it memorable.

The song changed in rapid succession as he skimmed through the memories of them together. The time he refused to take his girlfriend out because he had plans with Erik, to the time Erik put an icepack on his sore face where she slapped when she dumped him on the spot. And the time they got accepted into a music college to them graduating on the same day. And not to mention the time Erik had to drag him away from a bar when he was drunkenly hitting on every girl that wandered close.

The song then changed to the time the violin had gained the metal decorations. Erik had done it himself. They were still in university at the time. He had mentioned that his trusty violin made of mahogany had scratches on it and that the wood was fading. He hadn't sent it to a shop for a polish and a fixing in ages, so he didn't really know which one he could trust. At that moment, Erik just gave him his shark-like grin and said:

"Why don't you let me try fixing it up…?"

He didn't know what compelled him to do so, but he agreed. He was in the middle of composing a song then, so he had to make do with an unfamiliar oak wood violin.

He got the violin back when he was done with the song a bit later. Until today, he had wondered whether Erik had done that on purpose.

When he saw the violin for the first time after Erik fixed it up, he was gaping like a fish.

"Which shop did you send it to?" he had said, amazed by the highly polished instrument.

"Oh Charles," he said, grin plastered on his face. "Do you really think that I'm so incompetent? In fact, I specialize in metalwork."

"How did I not know of this?"

"I had a lot of time to kill when you were out frolicking with the girls."

Charles blushed. Guilt was clawing at his soul. "Right, um. Thank you, my friend." He said plainly.

"You're welcome," he said, grin still in place. "Now, try to play your new song on your good as new violin."

All he could do was smile, bring the violin to his chin, put the bow on the strings, and play.

The memory warped once more into the time he was standing on a stage, Erik by his side, playing the same song he wrote that day. Two years had passed since then, and they had left their university days far behind.

They were well known in Britain and went on tour around Europe. They were happy. That is, until Charles stated dating Moira.

Moira was a beautiful girl. She was what someone would only call as 'nice'. But there were a few things about Moira that unsettled Erik. Among them was the fact that she was aspiring to be a Rock Star and that she always wanted to monopolise Charles.

Now, Erik thought himself to be a very open-minded and modern man, so the thought of Moira the Rock Star didn't bring too many shudders up his spine. But what had really miffed Erik was the last one.

Charles, in his defence, was utterly oblivious to this. He never noticed that every part of his life concerning Erik and Moira turned into 'Who Can Monopolise Charles?'

After this had gone on for some time, Erik had decided to confront Charles. The confrontation happened in the bar they always frequented. It hadn't gone well. It had ended in them leaving the bar, screaming at each other.

"I don't think that she even loves you, the way you love her!" Erik had shouted. Frustration was clear in his body language. He made his way to his car across the street."Fine, then!" Charles screamed back. "I'll just break up with her then! Are you happy now?" He followed Erik across the street, bumping into his broad when he stopped abruptly.

"Then do it now." Erik said. "Call her and break up with her now."

Charles grumbled under his breath and proceeded to do so. He hung up as shouts started coming through the receiver. "There. It's done." Charles glared at him with piercing blue eyes. "I hope you're hap- Look out!"

Charles had spotted a car coming round the corner at high speed, barreling towards them. He had pushed Erik aside, only to be enveloped by extreme pain and darkness.

He remembered waking up in a white hospital room, mind still groggy from sleep. He remembered the too solemn doctor coming up to his bedside, beating around the bush and then coming straight to the point. He's lost the use of his legs.

The song halted abruptly. He dropped the bow and rested the violin on his lap. Tears had stained his face from the painful memories. He buried his face in his hands as his body wracked with sobs.

He has never seen Erik ever since.

_Years would have passed since then. The violin will be in a glass box on display in his study. His house would be a prestigious music school that everyone would want to get into. He would be teaching a violin class when the doorbell would ring. He'd excuse himself and wheel his way to the door as his class was the nearest. What he would see when he opened the doors would bring a smile to his face and tears to his eyes. He would clear his throat a little before saying:_

"Why, it's good to see you again, my friend."

End


End file.
